


Broken

by Dragestil



Series: We are Broken, We are Whole [2]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Angry Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 19:32:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3145991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragestil/pseuds/Dragestil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ross and Tom have a different sort of bond than anyone else - these two creatures stripped of their destinies by circumstance and choice. In the darkness, they collide and try to find some sort of meaning in a senseless world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken

**Author's Note:**

> I recommend listening to "Neptune" by Sleeping at Last for some of the vibes that helped inspire this fic.

They are broken, and not fool enough to think otherwise. They ache in the darkest corners of their minds, the corners behind walls and locks and lies. No one knows but the other, two lost creatures roaming the earth. When they collide it is beautiful and terrible, and it is creation and destruction, and it is everything they need and none of it all at once. There is no love, not in the conventional sense, but what they have is such a comforting - though broken - thing. And sometimes, it is violence, raised voices and fists in a claustrophobic alley. And sometimes, it is a shared cigarette on a rooftop after a quick fuck. And sometimes, it’s breakfast in bed the next morning with soft touches and wordless apologies for the world, for each other, for the things not done. Always, it is only theirs, their private thing that no one else can grasp.

Tom stretches along the roof’s edge, one leg dangling carelessly over the side that stretches down to the pavement far below. An unlit cigarette hangs in the corner of his mouth as he stares into the night. He does not move when Ross sits heavily by his head. He does not blink when cool fingers card through his hair or when they fist in it, jerking his head up.

“You always say you understand what it means to be worthless, a failure of your destiny,” Ross growls, glaring at the angel, “but you chose this! You abandoned your purpose. Mine was ripped from my back!”

So it is to be one of these nights, Tom thinks. He shifts, careful to mind the gargoyle’s grip on his hair, and sits up as much as he can. He is doubled over, straddling the ledge as he looks at Ross. Familiar anger burns in dark eyes. The air feels charged like a storm is about to break, though the sky is clear. Briefly, Tom wonders if they shouldn’t move somewhere else, before he remembers that safety has never been one of their top priorities. The threat of destruction is only kindling for the fires that drive them to such ends.

“Get up,” Ross commands, dragging the angel’s head away from the ledge to give him the room to obey.

Tom does without question. This is not the first night like this, and won’t be the last. He slips down onto the roof and casts an askew glance at Ross. For his momentary pause, the angel’s cheek is shoved harshly into the rough cement of the roof’s edge. Bent over, he knows what is coming. He braces his hands by his head as his trousers are roughly pulled down. The gargoyle’s body drapes over him like a rocky tomb, and the angel is distinctly glad that he no longer fears death. Ross shoves into him with all the care and concern of a rutting beast. This is not a night for tenderness or delicacy.

Ross is merciless, and it only makes Tom feel more alive. In the still night air high above the city, they pant together, sharing the sheen of the angel’s sweat. Tom reaches back, tangling his fingers in Ross’ short hair to pull the gargoyle’s head close to his. He bites at the other man’s lips.

“Don’t tell me about pain. I _know_ pain. If you want to show me, just do it,” he breathes, voice like distant thunder, low and menacing.

It pushes Ross to his breaking point. Trust Tom to know his every weak spot. The gargoyle yanks Tom’s head up and back, forcing the angel to stand with his back arched and eyes facing skyward.

“Tell your god what a filthy fucking mess you are. Tell ‘im you like my cock deep inside you. Go on; do it!”

“At least I get something when you fuck me. When the Heavens screwed me, I only got an eternity on earth,” Tom replies, voice unsteady with his heavy breaths.

“Say you want it!” Ross shouts, pushing deeper into the hot angel. “Say you want me!”

The world seems to go still as the gargoyle reaches his climax, spilling into Tom until it seeps out around his cock. His grip loosens, and the angel pulls his trousers back up casually. He ignores the aches that are springing up from his position. In the morning, they’ll all be gone anyway. Instead, he turns to face Ross and places a scraped up palm on the gargoyle’s cheek.

“You know I understand better than any what it means to be broken. You can keep coming to me for this,” he pauses, searching for the right word, " _this_ , but I can’t help more than being warm flesh. If that’s what you need, it’s yours. Your boys though, the other two, you’ll need them for the other bit. I’ll never want you like they do.”

Tom doesn’t linger any longer. He strides away, wings stretching out from his back until he steps off the edge of the roof. Ross is left to his silence and his pain. These are his alone, and not even an angel can fix them.


End file.
